The Potions Master's Storeroom

The following day, I did what any sensible woman would do. I hid.



Snape, Minerva McGonagall, and I chaperoned the students to the Hogwarts Express. After loading all of the bumbling first-years onto the train, and reassuring the last swotty student that she had brought enough books to last her through the Christmas hols (I swear that I never realized how annoying I was as a student), I turned to see Professor Snape smirking at me. I winked outrageously, and then hid in my room for the rest of the day like a coward.



This was all somewhat surprising. I’d never given the man a second thought beyond, ‘Oh, crumbs. He’s eaten the last breakfast muffin,’ or ‘Does he have to glare so much during staff meetings?’ Up until our dance the night before, the man had been a bit of Hogwarts furniture! A sort of snarky, eternal couch! In some uncharitable section of my soul, I’d always thought that he’d become a Binns when he died – terrorizing Potions students for centuries to come.



But then… Then he’d put his arms around me and there’d been a spark between us that had been strong enough to leave me coltish and weak-kneed. I’d never experienced anything remotely like that.



I’d had relationships before, the longest measuring in at just under nine months with Mr. Ronald Weasley. Our time together was spent fighting and shagging, fighting and shagging, interspersed with long intervals of me nagging him to pick up his ragged, corn chip-smelling socks. (Not that he listened.) We eventually broke up because I caught him shagging a blonde with tits the size of Ron’s overlarge head (but luckily minus the enormous elephant ears he possessed.) Her name was Mindy and she was a ‘Weaselette,’ a Golden Trio groupie of the ginger-loving persuasion.



Of course, Ron was always the weakest link in our little threesome; prone to uncontrollable bouts of anger and jealousy and, as he so clearly proved, susceptible to the most blatant forms of perky-titted flattery. Harry had much more sense, clinging to Ginny and praying for her to save him from all of the lightning-tattooed ‘Potheads’ that were chasing him.



After the Ginger Menace and I broke up, Ronald had a six month period of enforced celibacy due to a bollocks-shriveling charm his dear sister had the decency to teach me. I dated several other men in quick succession, but realized that they weren’t really interested in me; they wanted to be able to go to the bar with their mates and claim they were ‘Grangerous’ enough to tame the only member of the Golden Trio with a vagina. I honestly think that people have nothing better to do with their sad, uneducated lives than sit around and think up idiotic nicknames for things.



After the sixth Danger Granger in a row, I gave up. It’s been a long, horrifyingly celibate three years since then.



The point of this stultifying narrative was that while I was not completely innocent, I was still inexperienced to a degree. And Severus Snape, in all of his grumpy glory, was most definitely a predator.



He scared the bejesus out of me with his sexy dourness and greasy charm.



Four o’clock came and went. I ate a large box of chocolates to stuff my nerves and desire down farther into my gullet. Five o’clock also passed me by. I drank three glasses of a tawny port, half expecting him to come knocking on my door to demand why I wasn’t shagging him against the wall of his storeroom right then. By the time the dinner hour rolled around and I was obliged to make my way down to the Great Hall, I was halfway soused and spoiling for a fight.



I walked with drunken dignity, my joints feeling as if they were made from elastic. Relieved that Snape was nowhere in sight, I plopped into an empty seat next to Hagrid and started a lively and heated debate on the rights of Flobberworms. The poor man was completely baffled and kept repeating, “But they’s jess Flobberworms, ‘Ermione.”



“What a terribly speciest attitude to take! Do you honestly believe they don’t have feelings?” My voice was earnest and loud, a glass of port as good as a Sonorous charm on my petite physiology.



“I rather hope they do have feelings. They do wriggle so when I chop them up for Potions ingredients. I would hate to think that all of my pent up frustration is going to waste.” I turned to see Professor Snape taking the unoccupied seat to my left. He leaned forward and whispered. “I do enjoy venting on a good Flobberworm. They are adequate replacements for some of Hogwarts’ slower students.” His smile was sharp.



“Good evening, Professor Snape,” I said. The tone I used screamed ‘dignity,’ as if I hadn’t just been caught picking a fight with our Groundskeeper over the rights of invertebrates.



“Ms. Granger.” He gave me a perfunctory nod, his black hair swinging.



“It’s Professor.” My teeth were clenched so tightly that I was concerned they might shatter.



“Of course.” Snape reached for a roll and buttered it leisurely while watching the few students who had remained on campus for signs of wrongdoing at the dinner table.



Silence stretched between us, tenuous and uneasy. Why wasn’t he taking me to task about standing him up? I wondered. He told me himself that he’s not a man with whom to trifle. Perhaps he’s already planning his revenge. Have I been watching my food the entire time he’s been here? I was fairly certain I would have noticed if he’d tried to slip an emetic onto my plate. Hunching over, I placed my arms on either side of my dinner and ate without taking my eyes off my hunch of roast beef and wilty brussel sprouts.



“Rest assured Professor Granger. I have no intention of stealing your dinner. As you see, I’ve got a nice trout.” The bastard sounded amused.



“I’m sure you’re wondering why I stood you up.” It just tumbled out of my mouth without forethought. If I hadn’t been three sheets to the wind, I probably would have used a phrase other than ‘stood up’ as it implies a date, and he’d said nothing to indicate this would be anything other than strictly professional… although we both knew better, having seen the terribly naughty thoughts running through my head.



“Pardon?” He ate a bite of trout with apparent relish. “This is really quite good. I should send a note to thank the house elves.”



I softened marginally towards him. “You know, the Potions storeroom?” Gods, I wished I hadn’t drunk so much.



Snape stared at me with a blank expression for a moment before his brow cleared and he said, “Oh, yes. Well, I’m actually quite glad you didn’t come. I was called away to St. Mungo’s and have only just now returned.”



I crammed down all of that chocolate, and the bastard didn’t even remember that we were supposed to have dirty sex in a semi-public place. “Finally gone ‘round the bend, Professor? Did the men in the white coats come for you?” I was sulky.



He cocked his head. “Actually, they had an accident in their Potions laboratory, and they called me in to consult on safe containment procedures.” Snape raised an eyebrow and looked at me from the corner of his eye. “Really, Professor Granger. That was uncharitable of you. Moreover, I would hope that everyone who was involved in the Second War against Voldemort underwent psychiatric evaluation. I certainly have, and it’s done me a world of good.”



How did he do that? How did he make me feel like a misbehaving teenager so easily? I took a bite of my roast beef and choked it down, refusing to look at him. My lower lip trembled slightly and I could feel that it wanted to poke out like a petulant child’s. I refused to pout.



“Besides, you and I both knew that you had no intention of coming to help.”



“How on earth do you know that?”



“My dear Professor Granger, it has long been apparent that Gryffindor bravery is only good for big things – fighting Dark Lords, working at a dragon preserve, selling Quidditch supplies.”



I flushed at the mention of Ron and his less-than-stellar post-Hogwarts performance.



“Yes, you are well rid of that one. He was never your equal. Anyway, Gryffindors may be unbearably noble and brave when there are big rewards to be reaped, however, I’ve met very few that have the sort of interpersonal bravery required to step outside their personal comfort zones and judge someone on their own merits and not some preconceived notion of who they think they are.” Snape refused to meet my eyes as he cut his baby potatoes into perfect one inch by one inch cubes. His posture was straight but brittle as he nibbled on his dinner, appearing as if he lost his appetite.



“I’m not like that,” I said quietly.



“Of course not,” he demurred, still examining his plate.



“I’m not at all like that. I wanted to come.” It wasn’t a lie. I had wanted to meet with Snape, I had just been terrified. I’d always been a sensible girl, knowing when I was in over my head.



“Really?” Professor Snape turned to look at me, his dark eyes soft and hopeful. Honestly, I’m not sure why that insipid, puppyish expression didn’t tip me off. It’s doubtful he’d ever wear such a cuddly look for anything other than outright manipulation.



“Of course!” I covered his hand with my own and gave it a gentle squeeze.



“Then, Professor Granger, might I be so bold as to ask for your help in gathering some Potions ingredients from the Forbidden Forest this evening? I find that I am short on hollyhock as well as several other items that can only be gathered in cold winter moonlight.” His fingers twitched beneath mine and a frisson of electricity jumped directly to my groin.



My drunk, oversexed brain kicked into high gear and for just a moment, I saw him leaning against an oak tree, his legs spread to shoulder width. I was on my knees before him, and his hands were tangled in my uncooperative hair. He was groaning as I devoured him. God, I’d love to make that man groan.



“Ms. Granger,” Snape choked. “Have mercy.”



I tore my gaze from his and flushed furiously. “It’s Professor,” I snapped, pushing my chair back abruptly.



As I fled from the Great Hall, I heard him shout out behind me, “I’ll pick you up from your rooms at ten this evening, Professor Granger!”